


Mon sauvage

by NotPersephone



Series: The Lecter-Du Maurier Family Values [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2017-03-01
Packaged: 2018-09-27 17:56:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10037282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotPersephone/pseuds/NotPersephone
Summary: Bedelia and Hannibal attend a party dressed up as Morticia and Gomez Addams. Continuation of "Cara Mia".





	

The car comes to a stop outside the museum entrance. The driver opens the door and Hannibal gets out first, offering Bedelia his hand. The dress, clinging so tightly to her figure, limits her movements, but she enjoys the feel of the material against her skin. Hannibal’s eyes wander down her body before coming back to meet her eyes. She enjoys that too.

They walk up the marble stairs and stop before entering. The cobalt clouds gather in the sky above them.

“Looks like a dark and dreadful night,” Bedelia says, looking up.

“One can only hope,” Hannibal comments with a smile, evidently relishing his new role.

A solitary jack-o-lantern welcomes them at the door and Bedelia raises her eyebrow in disapproval. She is pleasantly surprised when they enter the ballroom. The soft gold light fills the space, with candles in vintage candelabras giving it an air of a long-lost mansion, restored to its previous glory.

Bedelia’s eyes sweep the room and look at the already met scholars and new guests. She assesses their attires. Some people have opted for a simply mask to cover their eyes, others have acquired full outfits with conflicting results. Her gaze falls upon the wife of one of Italian professors. The last time she has seen a skimpy nurse outfit she was in college and even then, she found it inappropriate. She can tell from Hannibal’s stare that he shares her thoughts.

A waiter, in a black shirt and a simply black mask, passes with a tray of champagne and Hannibal takes two flutes. To Bedelia’s relieve, the drinks are not _themed_.

A voice echoes behind them and they turn. A professor from Marseille, wearing a simply suit and tie, was looking forward to meeting “Dr Fell.” Several scholars join him and introductions are made.

“ _Madame Fell, enchant_ _é_ ,” he takes Bedelia’s hand and nods his head.

“ _Tout le plaisir_ _était pour moi_ ,” she says without thought.

 “ _Vous parlez français!_ ” the man exclaims with elation.

“ _Seulement un peu_ ,” Bedelia responds with caution, suddenly aware that she might have overstepped her role. Is Lydia Fell expected to know French? Her reservations about attending may prove merited after all. She gazes at Hannibal, looking for signs of alarm. Her eyes meet his dark irises and she watches as his pupils widen with lust. That is not the reaction she has anticipated.

“My wife has a good ear for languages.”

She watches, in astonishment, as he takes her hand and kisses it fervidly.

“You are a lucky man,” the professor comments, smiling at the obvious affection.

“I would kill for her,” Hannibal responds over dramatically and a sound of laughter follows what is assumed to be a joke. Only Bedelia can see the sparks of crimson in his eyes.

The scholars bid them a good evening and walk away, while he still holds her hand.

“Was the last comment really necessary?”

“I was merely stating the truth,” he kisses her hand again. Bedelia gasps when his lips begin to move, gentle kisses tracing the line of her arm. He looks up at her. The desire in his dark eyes is melding with a dreamy gleam. He holds hope that she will not move her hand away.

She doesn’t.

They live masquerading under aliases in high society. This evening emphasises what is usually concealed.  And it’s exhilarating.

He suddenly stops at her elbow, noticing her empty glass. He takes it and leaves to bring her a fresh drink.

One of the younger assistants takes the opportunity to walk over to Bedelia and asks her for a dance. Before she replies, Hannibal returns. The usual flicker of jealousy is present in his gaze, but there is also sadness that their intimate moment might come to a premature end.

“Thank you, but I promised the first dance to my husband,” she replies with a charming smile.

The man looks crestfallen, but nods his head with acknowledgement and walks away.

“It probably took all of his courage to ask for that dance,” Hannibal comments, but his eyes twinkle again. He offers her a glass.

“I know,” she turns to him and straightens his bow tie, before taking the drink,” I did not want to leave my husband. Besides, rejection builds character, or so they say,” she adds with a smirk.

“I would know,” he says with pretended hurt.

“But you never took no as a definitive answer.”

“Because I knew you were worth it,” he stoops down and resumes kissing her arm from the elbow up. When he finishes, her hand reaches for the back of his neck, fingers gently racking through his hair.

At this exact moment, the orchestra begins to play.

“How long has it been since we’ve waltzed?” he pulls her closer and sets their glasses on a nearest table.

They turn in perfect unison. Hannibal sweeps her across the floor in a slow three. The lights, the people, all blur in her vision. They move as though they were one, as though their bodies were melting together. Gliding across the floor, they attract numerous stares, but Bedelia does not mind. She relishes the thrill of the dance and, even more, of the perfect match.

As the orchestra strikes the last cord, her hold on him tightens and he dips her. They linger in a pose a couple of seconds longer than required, savouring the moment.

He brings her back to the standing position and they make their way to the table to retrieve their drinks. Hannibal picks out a scarlet rose from the flower composition in the centre of the table. He hesitates before offering it to Bedelia. It matches the colour of her lipstick.

“ _Querida_ ,” he whispers. The corner of her lips tilts in a half smile.

“ _Merci_ ,” she takes the flower, enunciating the word slowly, her eyes on his.

His pupils dilate further, his eyes all black now, but not with danger, only lust. He takes her hand and kisses it once more.

“Another dance?” he asks.

“Yes.”

 

When the celebration comes to an end, the driver takes them back home. They enter the apartment and Hannibal goes to prepare their usual glasses of sherry.

Bedelia looks out the window at the clouds that haven’t broken yet. He joins her and she accepts the glass. They savour their drinks in silence. When they finish, Hannibal puts his arm around her waist and is about to pull her closer, but stops. They are not at the ball anymore. He looks for her reaction.

Bedelia wipes away his hesitation by closing the distance between them and nibbling at the soft skin beneath his jawline. He wraps her in his arms and his lips meet hers in a deep and languorous kiss.

His mouth moves to her neck and his fingers unzip her dress, easing it off her shoulder. Bedelia begins to sway as her knees buckle. She feels drunk on this evening, his adoration, the effect they have on each other.

Her dress falls to the floor and this time Hannibal goes weak at the knees, as she’s standing in front of him in nothing more than a pair of stilettos. She has foregone underwear for the evening, not wanting to ruin the elegant line of her dress.

With a low groan, he picks her up effortlessly and places her gently on the nearest armchair.

He removes her shoes and slowly spreads her legs, placing them on either side of the chair. He then kneels before her and begins to kiss the inside of her leg, advancing from the ankle up. It’s unrushed and painstaking. Bedelia’s breathing grows more laboured as desire pools in her centre. But as he arrives at the top of her thigh, he stops and moves to her other leg. The sensation overflows her and she trembles with need.

“ _Plus_ , “she commands in a low, deep voice.

Not able to refuse her, he finally dips his head between her thighs. She moans as he tastes her, her voice hoarse with want. Hannibal kisses her there, over and over again, tongue diving in and she loses herself in the pleasure.

Suddenly he pulls back from her and she sighs in irritation. His tongue sweeps around his own lips, overwhelmed by her taste. Bedelia enjoys seeing his “moustache” smudged with her juices.

But she wants more, as hungry for the feel of his mouth, as he is for her flavour. She reaches for him and guides his head back into place, draping her legs over his shoulders.

With his lips and tongue feasting on her, she moans loudly and the words escape her lips, _mon_ _sauvage_.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone who enjoyed the first ficlet and encouraged me to continue the story. I am so happy we can all agree how perfect this analogy is!
> 
> As always, you can find me on tumblr as bedeliainwonderland.


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